It's who?
by OutbackWombat
Summary: The super spies at M.I. 9 make an astonishing discovery as they achieve their ultimate goal. However, will it be for the better? AU story set sometime during series 3-5.


The super spies at M.I. 9 make an astonishing discovery as they achieve their ultimate goal. However, will it be for the better? AU story set sometime during series 3-5.

* * *

"Go! Go! Go!"  
An annoying, high–pitched voice blared through the open air.

The sound of solid, steel–capped boots on tarmac resonated over the rainbow graffiti walls of the abandoned car park as M.I. 9's most well–trained spies were directed into the warehouse by Chief Agent Stark.

Following them were the less than dressed for the occasion spy handler, Frank London, and junior agents, Oscar Cole and Carrie Stewart. While their attire may have been appropriate for a typical field operation, this assignment was highly dangerous so they'd been ordered to stand back, away from the action, despite their experience and participation in the majority of the hard work leading up to the occasion. However, they knew it was the closest they were going to get to attain any recognition when a certain senior operative was involved.

Trailing behind this incomplete team were the tentative steps of their final member, Rose Gupta.

Her highly–strung nerves were becoming visible in the trembling of her hands. Today could possibly become known as the most important in M.I. High's history (at least of their era). It was entirely possible, likely even, that this sunny Wednesday morning in an abandoned London wholesale warehouse was the time and location that the Grandmaster would be caught and his reign of terror over, once and for all.

Then again, how often had they said that?

Rose paused for a second and let the doubtful thought replay through her mind.

' _No_ ,' she said firmly to herself. This time she was positive they had him trapped. She and her team had worked overtime planning and putting in place strategies to deal with any and all possibile scenarios to ensure it went off without a hitch. They truly believed they had accounted for every factor of what could go wrong.

Then again, her conscience reminded her, they don't know what you've been keeping hidden from them. You're supposed to be intelligent, yet for some reason you're so desperately unwilling to view the situation from a logical, emotionally detached perspective. ' _Regard only the facts and you will know reason!_ ' she incurred a sharp reprimand from her own mind.

She sighed and attempted to bring about an end to the unconscious jerking movements of her hands by slipping her hand into the pocket of her jacket and fiddling with the dense plastic item between her fingers – the object of her guilt. For shielded in her hand was an item that caused her much distress. An electronic device blazoned with the emblem of SKUL; unexpectedly discovered in the innocent realms of her headmaster's office.

She'd not told a single soul that she had acquired the item. Even her trustworthy spymaster had been kept in the dark.  
She had stumbled upon the item under Mr. Flatley's desk, of all places. She'd merely been 'correcting' the writing competition entries for Mr. Flatley, when her keenly trained eyes had spotted the symbol poking out beneath the piles of Morris Dancing junk and fast food – hidden away from the eagle eyes of Mrs. King.

A flood of questions had rushed to her mind – How did this end up here? Why is it with the suspiciously hidden Morris Dancing junk and fast food? Is the seemingly naïve fool working for SKUL?

Snapping back to reality, she realised she was falling back and ran to catch up.

"Rose, are you okay?" inquired Carrie, as she absorbed the restlessness of her colleague and friend.

"Yeah, fine," she replied as her heavy breathing reverberated in their eardrums, indicating she was clearly not okay.

"Are you sure?" Oscar checked. He didn't mean to be rude; but Rose had barely run 50m, yet she was huffing as though she'd just completed a marathon.

"Just...nervous," she responded hesitantly, "We could be making spy history here."

They both nodded their concurrence.

"Well come on then, guys," Carrie encouraged, concealing her own butterflies. "Let's go and make history."

"Hurry up!" Frank whispered loudly. He waved his arm and gestured them over.  
They took their cue and followed him, bolting into the warehouse and entered just after Stark and his men.

The pounding of their feet echoed in a grey room of seemingly endless length surrounded by half shut windows. The little light that shone through was spread in patches over the concrete ground. There was one artificial light source, however. The illumination of the television set conspicuously situated in the centre of the room.

"Stop right there, Grandmaster!" an impatient yet victorious Agent Stark bellowed into the room.

The spies searched around the scene checking for the bombs, security cameras and Flopsy they expected to find, but instead; upon a small television, the Morris Dancing championships displayed on the screen.

After doing a quick sweep of her allocated section of the warehouse, Rose stood with the rest of the pack and watched the military agents begin the arrest. Rose's fears were increased with the familiar looking Morris Dancing paraphernalia and she began to subconsciously fiddle with the gadget still pressed tightly into her sweaty palm.

The figure poised upon the demonic chair was dressed in a headscarf, the signature of the Grandmaster but also, instead of his usual dressing gown, the grey suit of the loveable headmaster covered him.

Any hope remaining in Rose's heart deflated as her heart rate increased; how many people in London held an unhealthy obsession with Morris Dancing and wore that exact suit?

"Grandmaster, on the authority of M.I. 9, you are under arrest. I order you to turn around right now."

The tough, age–hardened agents of M.I. 9 cringed as a painful screech rang out and the extravagantly large chair before them slowly revolved.

A smug grin took over the senior agents face; "Now, remove the headscarf, Grandmaster," Chief Agent Stark commanded, "Let's see who you really are."

The man in the chair began to unwrap the cloth from his head, pausing only to pet the white ball of fluff residing on his lap, take a long–suffering sigh and mumble "Ah, Flopsy, whatever shall we do now?"

The crowning moment in her spy career, perhaps even life (at least, so far), Carrie felt the butterflies fluttering around her stomach. This was the end of the war she'd been fighting ever since she became a spy. The enduring conflict between SKUL and M.I. High was going to end; right here, right now.

Oscar stood proud and tall at the scene playing out before him; both he and his family had taken horrible consequences of SKUL's actions for far too long – it was time to get even and finish this mess.

She was an exhibit at a museum – Life Through Rose–Coloured Glasses, the Epitome of Despair. The dread had begun not a week back when she'd found the device, and her anxiety had only increased from there as she'd desperately hidden it along with the inconceivable truth, the tension finally reaching its paramount at that exact moment–

This was it, the time had reveal finally come to reveal–

"Mr Flatley?!"

Frank and his team exclaimed in confusion – bar Rose; who (completely unprofessionally) sank to her knees, pulling her hands through her hair crying, "No!"

"Yes Frank," he paused to flick his hair for dramatic effect, "It is I."

Frank continued to stare at him incredulously. Apparently, in all their forethought and predictions, they had failed to account for the emotional factor and how this may impact their ability to react in a proper manner.

"I'm disappointed in you. My expectations were that you would have figured that out by now."

Shoving his emotions aside for the moment, Frank stepped forward. "I must admit, this is most certainly not a possibility we had considered."

"You must have always known I am too clever for you and your puny brains," he spat.

His eyes searched the room. "Now, I believe you have something of mine."

The agents looked confused.

"A communicator, perhaps?" He hinted.

The agents continued to look around in misunderstanding, while Rose unwittingly revealed its location as she let her eyes wandered from their intense glare at his face down to her hand.

"Ah yes – Rose, is it? Yes; if you wouldn't mind handing me my Flopsy Communicator?"

She stood and reached over to hand it to him, also directing a look of absolute disgust and resentment at her teacher – which he promptly ignored so as to proceed with his speech.

"As you appear to have not 'figured it out;' this device." He held up the black–gloved hand encasing the item, "is my means of long–distance communication with Flopsy."

A look of pride, which Rose could only describe as _wrong_ , shone across his face; "It's a Morse code communicator – Flopsy's idea; perfectly simple to use at both ends. My Flopsy has always been a rather intelligent bunny."

With a smile on his face, he affectionately moved his fingers down the rabbit's spine before his expression changed to one of anger, "Much greater than any of you feeble insignificant people could ever be," he insulted.

His resolve broken, Frank sunk to the back of the pack feeling betrayed by his employer. _'Not just my employer,_ he considered, _my friend.'_

Any of Frank's remaining nerves had vanished. Fortunately, Agent Stark had reached his wit's end and pushed himself forward. "All right, that's enough chit chat." The impatient agent cut off the rather one-sided tête-à-tête in an agitated tone.

"Grandmaster, you will be removed from this location immediately and taken to a secure M.I. 9 holding facility."

"Well," the Grandmaster considered, raising a leather finger to his chin, "I suppose there is no point in resisting." He made to stand up himself and hand over his bunny, but was submitted to the aid of the special operations agents.

Stark gestured to his men to take away the culprit and his sidekick as he took up the rear.

Now alone in the large space were Frank, Carrie, Oscar and Rose.

A solemn silence fell over the room as they all realised what this event meant the end of. For the junior agents, it was the end of everything they'd ever fought for – though they surely knew there were countless other threats in the world waiting for the perfect time to strike.

Following the older spies at a distance, the M.I. High agents began to recover from the shock of what had happened.

As soon as they'd stepped out of the warehouse, Carrie walked in front of them. She held her hands up, bringing them to a halt; "Okay, can someone explain to me what just happened?" she asked with a strong tone of disbelief.

"As far as I can tell, we've just arrested the Grandmaster," Frank explained, looking a bit bamboozled himself.

"But that was Mr. Flatley. You know – our headmaster, Mr. Flatley? 'Scared of moles' Mr. Flatley?"

"I should've known, I should've told you what I'd suspected after I found the communicator – but I just stupidly refused to admit the truth," Rose whispered angrily in guilt.

"There's no way you could have known," reassured Frank.

"But I– I should have told you what I'd found..."

"It wouldn't have changed what he is," Oscar responded, coldly.

"Come on, let's get out of here." Their leader led them to their van to follow the others out.

Rose was still overwhelmed with guilt. Why couldn't she have just told someone what she'd found?

Then things mightn't have turned out as they did.

'Telling someone would have changed nothing,' the logical part of her brain told her. 'Mr. Flatley is the grandmaster all the same; there was not anything you could have done to rectify his...mistakes.' She sighed.

Oscar could barely contain his anger at the situation! First of all, anger at his (most likely now former) teacher – how could a man in such a position of authority as Mr. Flatley betray the trust of so many?

Then he held much anger at himself – how did he not notice?

He was a trained agent!

He felt stupid – he'd allowed himself to get to close to a potential threat without even considering it as such.

Oh, how disappointed his father would be if he knew...

He did not allow himself to continue that train of thought, and instead turned to an equally distressed Rose and joined in her conversation with Carrie.

Carrie immersed herself in the conversation on the exterior but, as her friends were (obviously) also doing, she had a separate internal rant. Her jumbled up thoughts were clambering around her mind. She'd always thought that Mr. Flatley, despite being something of a fool, was an innocent, decent person. The Grandmaster, on the other hand, was the very definition of evil. However, somehow these people were one and the same. Somehow, the leader of a (if she was honest) failing school in London is also the leader of a highly successful criminal organisation.

It felt to everyone as though it would be a long, tense ride back to M.I. 9 Headquarters.

Fortunately, Carrie took it upon herself to diffuse the situation by starting a conversation. That way, each occupant of the vehicle, while still processing their experience and current feelings on the matter, could use small talk to distract themselves.

As Frank mounted the driver's seat of the sleek, black van, he reflected on his long past with his (perhaps only) friend. All the memories of the joyous times they'd had. He sat back in the leather, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath to calm down before turning the key in the ignition.

As he drove along he allowed the white noise of the teenager's voices to soothe his adrenaline high. Their speech was beneficial for both them, as it allowed then to process their feelings in the background of mindless chatter, and him in the calming background noise of normality.

Normal. That was intriguing concept. One which Frank believed did not truly exist. Even if it did, he most certainly had never experienced it; or at least, not for a while. Everything he did was fraught with some mystery or another; it came with the job.

All of a sudden, a large ball of bright yellow, orange, red and blue burst out at them. Frank's solemn musings came to a jolted end. He screeched the tyres as he swerved the car to park on the side of an otherwise empty road.

All he could do was watch as the other M.I. 9 van halted too quickly and tipped over. Rolling once more against the rough tarmac, the friction caused the vehicle to erupt into blinding, scorching flames.

The occupants of the vehicle rushed out, still keeping a firm grip on the Grandmaster but seemingly minus Flopsy.

Dismounting quickly, the agents sprinted over to the mass of people shielding themselves from the impending explosion.

Too busy protecting themselves to worry about the Grandmaster, the agents left only a loose grip on his arms.

The Grandmaster, realising this, pulled away and moved towards the flaming vehicle calling, "Flopsy!"

Stumbling a little in his rush to save his companion, Mr. Flatley reached into the flames and brought out his now dusty white rabbit.

Finally realising that their prisoner had left, the spies made a move to stop him.

"No! It's going to explode!" Stark yelled behind them, halting their actions.

Hearing the caution also, the Grandmaster commenced his sprint to a safer location.

Alas, he was too late.

Staring in shock from a safe distance back, the agents could do nothing but watch as the fireworks began.

Mr. Flatley, positioned far too close to avoid any consequences, was thrown off his feet and sent tumbling to the ground before lying completely still.

"Mr. Flatley!" the three child spies called at once.

Waiting impatiently until the fire died down, the teenagers then ran over to help their headmaster. Despite his now revealed malevolence, Oscar, Carrie and Rose couldn't help but feel the obligation to assist the fallen man.

Rose confirmed that he was still breathing before squeezing the skin between his neck and shoulder and shouting his name while Oscar and Carrie remained on the sidelines and debated whether or not to call an ambulance.

Frank came over and resolved that issue, "We need to get him back to headquarters; we can help him there."

Frank reached over to lift him up but was stopped by Rose.

"What if he has a spinal injury? I didn't see – did he hit his head when he fell?"

"No, he just, sort of, rolled," Oscar replied.

As Frank and Oscar were preparing to move him, a groan erupted from his mouth.

They immediately stopped their actions and sat him up.

"Mr. Flatley?" Oscar asked as he leaned against him, "Are you all right?"

"Mr. Flatley?" he echoed, wide–eyed with shock.

Irritated, Oscar corrected himself sarcastically, "Grandmaster, then, are you O.K.?"

"Grandmaster?" he repeated, equally as bamboozled as before.

"Yes, you are the high and mighty Grandmaster. Now up you get so we can go."

Frank and Oscar moved to each side of him.

Mr. Flatley continued to mutter under his breath as he was helped up and led to the other van by Frank and his team.

"Stark is arranging a clean–up team alternative transport for himself and his agents while we are in charge of transporting the Grandmaster," Frank explained as he hauled Mr. Flatley into the back of the van.

The spies moved around to the front of the van to get in themselves.

"Thankfully this is a quiet road so the clean–up should be finished fairly rapidly," Frank commented and started the engine.

As they were driving away, Rose began, "What I don't understand is why the van exploded," she paused. "I mean, the event of a vehicle exploding after an accident is a less common occurrence than most people believe."

"Yes," Frank agreed. "Now that I think about it, there may have been some sort of flammable equipment in there."

Carrie considered this. "Yeah, all that spy equipment stored up the top of the van, something must have been prone to exploding."

"Yeah, and have you seen how Flatley's acting? I think something must have affected him somehow."

"He'll be checked over fully once we're back at headquarters," Frank assured.

They arrived at the M.I. 9 base to be greeted by none other than the head of M.I. 9 herself.

She sent her agents to escort the Grandmaster to the medical facility before addressing the team, "Follow me inside then you can update me on the details."

She led them to a conference room with stark white walls and a large table surrounded by matching black chairs.

They took their seats. The head began, "Agent Stark has told me the basics of what happened, but can you further explain? I understand the Grandmaster to be your head teacher...?" the chief trailed off somewhat incredulously.

Before another word could be said, the beeping of a phone sounded.

She quickly turned to her pocket and withdrew her phone. "Excuse me agents," she rose out of her chair and walked to the corner to take the call.

The agents sat silently and waited

"I have just received a call from Agent Stark. It turns out that the lab scientists left their creations in the back of the van after a week at a spy technology invention competition. The technology they presented was a powerful memory wipe machine – an _experimental_ machine."

They nodded in understanding, each contemplating the possibilities – has Mr. Flatley lost all memories? If so, can his memories be recovered? Has he lost the ability to retain new experiences?

They were interrupted by a knock at the door.

At a nod from his superior, Frank stood to get answer the door.

A short, stocky man dressed in a suit and tie peered around to address the leader.

"Ma'am, I have the documents you requested."

"Thank you. Just place them on the table, please."

He did so and left the room. Frank shut the door behind him and returned to his seat.

She opened the file and skimmed over it before looking up. "The effects Mr. Flatley has suffered match the possible consequences of misuse of the equipment. However, thankfully, the project still has a few faults, so Mr. Flatley, or the Grandmaster, has kept basic skills of speech, co–ordination, further retention of memories and such, but has lost his previous memories."

The first thought that came to Rose's mind popped out of her mouth, "So he doesn't remember who he is? Let alone that he's the coordinator of a massive criminal organisation?"

The team mused upon that idea.

"So he's kept his core memories, like you said, but is there any way of retrieving his other memories of his life and such?" Oscar asked.

Rose brightened at that idea, "Yeah, maybe. As a specialised government organisation," her eyes flitted over to the head briefly, "we may have access to the sort of equipment..." she trailed off to get her thoughts in order. "There is the possibility that we could access and reignite specific memories and reset his persona."

Frank started slowly, "I suppose there is the chance–"

Rose cut him off excitedly, "Essentially, we could retrain him to him as we knew him at school – minus his criminal mastermind personality."

Though she kept it to herself, Rose clearly realised in her mind that as the team was so unwilling to accept that Mr. Flatley was the Grandmaster, they had jumped without checking at the chance of retraining him after his memory loss – it was the perfect opportunity.

The head of M.I. 9 had remained pensive throughout yet silent throughout.

"We shall, of course, have to consult with the medical head," she put her thoughts forward, "But I suppose there is the opportunity to...well, to put harshly, experiment, on Mr. Flatley – all for his benefit, of course. Maybe, as you put it, 'retrain' him to a better person, or to his purely head teacher form."

Frank nodded in agreement.

"The machine is not completely finalised, of course, as there has not been a human test subject, due to obvious human rights regulations. But I suppose, in his incapacitated state, and the final product will be for his own benefit..."

Carrie was frowning. She was still unsure of how 'right' it was to do this, however much she wanted it to happen.

"Is this really the right thing to do, guys?"

They turned to regard her.

"I mean, we're rewriting his life here, removing a chunk of his personality." Carrie finished.

"Well technically, we're just releasing select memories. 'Rebooting,' would be a more correct term," Rose assured.

Oscar added, "We're not really removing any part of him – just allowing access to his 'good' life, as a teacher and blocking access his bad spirit and life as the Grandmaster."

While she was still unsure of whether her morals agreed with the decision, and was about to vocalise as much, Carrie was interrupted and unable to continue the discussion.

"Okay, I think that's enough for tonight." The head got up, "You three," she looked at the teenagers. "Go on home. Relax, decompress, think things through," she dismissed them and they exited the room.

She watched them out then turned to Frank, who stood, "Agent London, I expect a full report completed tomorrow afternoon."

Frank nodded, "Yes, ma'am."

Her tone changed, softening from professional to familial, "Frank, also, check on your team. They're only young and this is a lot to deal with – make sure they're okay. Take care of yourself, too, of course."

He nodded again, "Of course, ma'am."

"Goodnight, then."

"Goodnight ma'am."

As Frank drove home that night, he considered his day. How many ways the day had dropped like a bombshell. This highly reputed organisation was performing such a harsh action. Rewriting someone's life?! It's wrong, but they're doing it anyway. Who gave _them,_ the people at M.I. 9, the authority to change someone's life like this? On top of that, they did not even consider how any events may have led to Mr. Flatley's status as Grandmaster – they just saw a problem and said "we have to fix this," in the only way we know how; removing a person's life! Essentially killing them! Frank was sure there were better uses for some of the nation's top minds than following the orders of a, in his opinion, morally corrupt organisation. However, not willing to be a traitor within a group he'd spent many years in, and not entirely sure of all the facts (he supposed the 'higher-ups' had more of an idea as to what happened and made a judgement based upon what they thought was right), Frank decided he must trust the judgement of his superiors and 'let the cards fall.'

With that final thought, he closed the matter in his mind for the night and settled in for a hopefully more peaceful night than day. His first thought process – _'What should I have for dinner?'_


End file.
